


ahh~

by blueberrywithtrexarms



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Other, Party's got a cruuuuuush!, Pre-Relationship, but party is horny, nothing actually horny happens, this is rated teen for thinking about being horny.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrywithtrexarms/pseuds/blueberrywithtrexarms
Summary: 3 times Party has accidentally made Jet moan.
Relationships: Jet Star/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Kudos: 5





	ahh~

There have been a couple different times, before they were “together” that Party made Jet moan on accident.  
Well, not a real moan. But one of those tiny, involuntary noises in the back of the throat. Not a mewl, not a whimper. So short. Like a gasp but voiced. A little Mmm~, a little Ahh~. As short and barely audible as these noises were, they were music to Party’s ears. Or really, they were music to their crotch.

Like that one time they were laying on the roof. Light pollution from battery city reflected off the solid sheet of clouds, making the whole sky an ugly orange. It was ok though because what was going on beneath was pretty darn beautiful. The two killjoys on the roof tonight were spread out on the tar paper sheeting, one’s feet pointing south and the other’s feet pointing north. Heads and shoulders fit together like a puzzle, until Party moved.  
They scooted up and put their head on Jet’s chest to use it as a pillow. Jet was good for being a pillow, muscly with a layer of fat over it. Solid and soft. They pressed their cheek into his pectoral and looked real hard at the stubble on Jet’s chin. They wandered if they could kiss him. Nah, then they would have to ask, and that was too scary. What if he said no? What if he thought they were stupid and didn’t want to hang out anymore? If nothing else, they knew they were allowed to play with his hair.  
Ever so gently, they ran their fingertips from jet’s forehead and into his curls. The shape of each one and how it tangled with the others, the frizziness of curls that had come undone, the softness where every hair was lined up in the same direction, the springy boinginess. Jet’s hair was just so fascinating.  
“Name a texture better than your hair bet you can’t.” Party said. Jet spoke and they felt the buzz of his chest against the side of their face. “Yeah. Sometimes? I’m layin in bed tryna go sleep? And I just lay there n touch my hair for 10 minutes straight.” Party closed their eyes and continued petting Jet’s hair, from his temple all the way down the side, fingers just barely brushing by his ear. They thought about how someone touching their ears drove them a little wild. When their fingers made their next trip down the side of Jet’s scalp, they stroked the outside of his ear and thumbed the lobe a little on the way down. And again. And again. Light fingers tracing temple, ear, neck.

“Mmm” Jet made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat. It was short and quiet. It wasn’t a moan or a whine, but it had the same meaning as one, and the same effect. Party froze, stomach clenched, body burning. It was a tiny noise, adorable. They wanted to hear it again. They wanted to make Jet make all sorts of noises. I just wanna make you feel good, baby, let me make you feel good their brain yelled. They kept their mouth firmly closed and squeezed their eyes shut tight. This shouldn’t make me as horny as it does they thought. They removed their fingers from Jet’s hair and patted the top of his head instead, waiting for the feeling to pass. At some point, Jet’s hand came up and rested on their head. At some point, the feeling did pass and it was replaced by the quiet joy of laying someplace up high with your best friend, and then the silly, show-off-y performance of singing dumb songs with people you’re not afraid to sound dumb in front of. Yeah. They could make do with this

Or that other time, laying on the couch in the diner, holding Jet in their lap. Jet would sometimes use Party as a pillow, laying his head on their lap, or even just settling himself between Party’s legs and laying back against them, his head resting on their chest. Party found this the most endearing thing. Jet was so large and strong and gave off the impression of competence, when he wasn’t giving off the impression of having shit idiot brain fungus. And here Party was, not too much shorter but certainly a lot smaller, holding this man in their lap and petting his hair. They felt a rush of warmth over this. Not a possessiveness but a protectiveness.  
They shifted a little and tried to find a good place to put their arms, a hand sliding over Jet’s stomach in the process. So soft, both from the texture of the well-worn shirt and from the fat on his belly. But they didn’t have time to reflect on this because the instant their hand moved Jet took in a small gasp and twitched a little.  
Startled, they retracted their hand and began to say “sor—“  
“nah its fine my stomach is just sensitive.” Jet said sleepily, bringing Party’s hand back down onto his chest and laying his own hand over it.  
God, Jet’s hands. So big and warm and soft. And… dry? Like you never think about that but being in the desert Party had pretty sweaty hands a lot of the time and feeling Jet’s un-sweaty hands was quite nice. Well anyway. They made a mental note to avoid Jet’s stomach, and then made a secret, deeper mental note to make extra effort to touch Jet’s stomach should the situation ever make it… appropriate.

Or! a different, separate time, but on that same couch, in that exact same position, they were singing together again, and. Ok side note. Party was a pretty good singer in the first place, and had been in a few musicals before they had left the city and before their voice changed from the testosterone given to them by a disgraced physicist in zone 5- wait they’re getting distracted again. Singing. Performance art was frowned on in Batt City because it didn’t make good money, and its not like that placed cared for the arts anyway. But they were in a few musicals, were pretty good, came out to the desert, got T, sounded pretty bad, and had slowly been re-learning how to use their voice, and while they weren’t quite at the level they were before starting T, they still sounded ok. Like they hit most of the notes they were trying to hit and could match pitch and carry a tune. Jet, Party had discovered, couldn’t sing at all. It was pretty awful. He had grown up in the desert and at first Party thought it was because of him hearing nothing but zone punk bands all his life, but nah the man just couldn’t sing. Until they started singing together, and Jet actually tried and got some practice. Party was always singing to themself and that’s why they were good-ish, and Jet occasionally joined in. This was one of those times. Part on the couch, singing with Jet laying in their lap, and Jet doing his best to sing along.  
This position wasn’t ideal for breathing, but it was ideal for having Jet’s entire back pressed up against their entire front, and feeling all the buzzing as he experimented with his lower register. And this time, he sang almost the whole song perfectly. No wrong notes, no waffling around below or above trying to find the fucking key. Party was impressed. Jet must have been practicing and this really struck something in them, because singing with Jet was one of their top 10 desires, right after a decent can of chili.  
Shortly after this, they extracted themself from under Jet and just lounged next to him on the couch, touching his hair again. God it was such nice hair. He was laying down, either close to sleep or just not paying attention with his eyes closed. Party was running their fingers through the bit they could reach, the part that hung down by the nape of his neck. Now they weren’t sure whether they touched his neck or pulled his hair in just the right way or what, but Jet let out the tiniest squeak they had ever heard. It took Party a few seconds to realize that was even what they had heard, and when they sat up a little to look at his face, the moment had passed.

They want. Badly. Like so fucking badly. To make Jet make these noises on purpose. They want to slide their hands over his soft belly and feel the hair and the smooth skin and the fat over his hips, they want to brush their thumb over his ear, and to slide their hand up his neck and root their fingers in his hair and pull, ever so gently, pull his head in toward their own for a kiss. Doesn’t matter if they wind up fucking or not, all Party wants is to be responsible for Jet’s pleasure, and his little noises are their own reward.

(they totally end up fucking though.)

**Author's Note:**

> YES I KNOW IM PROJECTING LALALALALALALALA I CANT HEAR YOU WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M JUST REPLACING ME AND MY CRUSH'S NAMES FOR CHARACTER NAMES. (we don't totally end up fucking though) (maybe? hopefully? sometime in the future) God. I'm in deep.


End file.
